It was supposed to be a little rant about Twisted Wonderland, it became a treatise (no, but almost):
So, I love the Diasomnia book. It's soooo good (also considering the type of game).
Lilia is enchanting me, Meleanor (or Malenoa) has enchanted me. She couldn't be more beautiful than this. We've seen her so little and yet in my opinion she is one of the most successful characters in Twisted Wonderland. She is the summary of what Twisted Wonderland should be, the dark side that reconciles with unconditional love. And with her being mother she introduces the concept which is the basis of Lilia and Silver (and also Malleus I presume), that is the concept of "true love". It's a blow to the heart, it's the key to development that can completely change things.
Ah, but then you know how to do things well.
And here comes my complaint: I start directly from the game first. I understand that Diasomnia is the main dorm and that Malleus (where are you Malleus?) is our front man. All right. But if they can do something like that now, then they could do at least half of this for the other characters too. Did they do it? Obviously not, or at least not for the most part. No, because if the other media have to come and explain to us the underlying reasons for the other Overblots then something is wrong. If to understand what the guys who are alongside us are doing and what they think I have to read the novel then yes, I get a little angry. Because they knows how to do things for heaven's sake.
Mind you, I'm not saying that Diasomnia can't have more screentime (also because they're giving us information on world building and who says anything), I'm simply talking about good writing and commitment to the characters that have been created. Also because there are already problems of opinion, if the writing is lascivious and incomprehensible, well, see you!
And here's the second point. I don't usually make posts like this, but this comes following a post I saw (I won't say how or where), where there was a clear devaluation of the other chapters and character issues in favor of Diasomnia. So, as much as can be forgivable addressing imaginary characters in a certain way (yes, they are all invented, they have neither merits nor demerits for being what they are, only the tragedy of being written badly in some cases), the treating some topics such as those of Riddle, or Azul or Jamil lightly or insensitively is questionable to say the least. And it can be offensive.
Just as I'm tired of hearing that Leona's problem is "jealousy". No, and even if the writing of the Savanaclaw arc (let alone the translation) doesn't help, no. He's not just jealous, just as Vil isn't just jealous. But I'm not here to do psychological analysis of characters that probably some wouldn't even understand.
You may not understand, yes, we have the right to not understand (especially, I repeat, given the weaknesses that are in the game). Fine, but it's our limit and we keep our head down and we keep quiet, or ask for things to be explained to us. There is no need to devalue, insult or mock the characters, because those characters are loved by someone, and there is a reason they are chosen. Revelation: no, if you like something you don't do it any good by devaluing the rest, but rather you throw that thing in the mud too. I'm not just talking about Twisted Wonderland, I'm also talking about your favorite author, your book or your anime character.
Guys, it's a matter of respect, you are not superior to anyone, and you are few. Come on, we are together, everyone waves their flag but high fives with those who are next to you.
This post has become very long, so I'm closing it, if anyone has something to dispute please, with all due respect.
Have a good day!
P.s. Sorry if I put this post here, I would like to put it on my personal blog but I haven't yet found the will to solve the access problems. I hope you forgive me.
Dazai looks at you while you sleep on his miserable futon lying limply on the floor.
Doesn't seem like a good place for you, in his eyes. You look out of place in the clutter of his booze bottles and convenience food boxes still littered with the remains of dinners that aren't real dinners.
You didn't have to go to him, he told you. He told you that it was really not appropriate to discuss work so late at night, especially when he would avoid doing it even during the day.
It was a pretext, of course: both from him and from you.
Dazai knows very well that it is the concern for wounds that are already healing that push you to his door, and for his part it is the fear of being discovered that prevents him from enjoying your closeness.
Sometimes he wishes he had never met you, because you make everything more difficult, you make those gnawing feelings that devour him from inside wrong. The fact that you make life easier makes his existence complicated.
You are someone that he is accountable to, that he unfortunately wants to be accountable to, and it makes him realize that there are also other people he is terribly fond of.
It's terrifying, because now it's hard to leave when someone you love asks you to stay.
He wishes he'd never met you, but now he's afraid of losing you, or making you lose him. And leaning his head next to yours he looks at your face like he hopes you never see, because his eyes are brighter than normal, and sweet, and painful.
You look so out of place next to a black hole like him.
But the empty place you leave doesn't seem to put things right.
“So it must be…” he says to himself as he wearily sits up in the morning light. Maybe you left while he was sleeping, or maybe he just dreamed about you.
But there is someone in the next room. In the hole that he methodically calls home it’s difficult to hide the presences.
Dazai reluctantly feels a kind of relief now that he watches you from the doorway as you use his disused kitchen without permission.
When you look at him over your shoulder you smile, even if your words seem more like a playful rebuke: “No one ever taught you how to shop, did they?”
His lips automatically curl up happily, but his mind is still verbalizing that you're really there.
“Do you want to give me some repetitions?” He moves closer to you, his fingers sliding through his messy curls as his free hand smoothes his wrinkled shirt. A small yawn escapes him as he looks at the breakfast you're preparing. You must have gone out early in the morning to buy all that food.
“Well, watch and learn!” You hum, opening the fridge just to show him how a normal person would fill it.
“I don't think I'll be able to emulate you, you know?”
Now he's beside you, your elbow brushing his as you cut and cook.
“You don't look too disturbed that you slept on my futon, huh?”
That question is as playful and teasing as his wink, but something screeches at the back of Dazai's throat.
“If you woke me up, I'd leave.” You answer him without bothering to look at him.
“And with what courage would I have done it?” Even if he laughs at the bottom of his heart he is sincere.
Because despite everything he doesn't have the courage to push you away. He never has the courage to accept that one day you could say goodbye, and with this comes the hope that he is afraid of losing, that of being able to erase that day with his own hands.
Because you should be out of place there, in a shabby kitchen where only he occasionally sets foot.
“Will you sit at the table?”
It should seem like a wrong scene, the two of you serving at the table, sitting down, watching each other while you eat and chatting about this or that.
“Mmmmh! I think it's been a lifetime since I've had a home cooked meal like this! Now that I think about it, have I ever eaten it?”
Your laughter within those walls should sound strange. You shouldn't be there, yet Dazai smiles at you, because having you there seems a bit as if life could be normal, without necessarily having to erase the past.
“Do you like it?”
“Mh-mh!”
You laugh at him that stares at you with cheeks swollen with food, and he likes it when you laugh at him. Is this the family atmosphere that people romantically talk about?
It's not bad in the end. And the problem is that even if he keeps telling himself that you're not where you should be when you're surrounded by him, that's where he wants to keep you, where strangely a glimmer of future opens up on his horizon.
His voice sounds like a gust of wind in the desert, powerful and sweet, warm and elusive at the same time. And look at you, busy holding back the yawns from sleep deprivation.
Yet today you weren't able to get there before him. Indeed, it would seem that Jamil was waiting for you, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest.
You feel like a trapped mouse as you hold the still warm bag in your hands.
“Good morning…” you manage to stammer. You haven't done anything wrong, yet being caught in the act agitates you, embarrasses you and maybe even scares you a little.
"Good morning." He's cordial, but you feel the pressure of things to do already pressing into his voice.
While he's already talking to you, he moves around the kitchen, taking ingredients and utensils to prepare the breakfast of his precious housewarden.
It's the fifth time you've sneaked out in the wee hours of the morning to leave that little bag in the kitchens knowing full well that the busy deputy would show up early, but up until now you've timed it beautifully and your identity has remained a mystery. At least that's what you hoped.
“It's very kind of you.” His voice is soft and formal as he cuts fruit into wedges, and his lack of attention to you kind of irritates and surprises you at the same time.
“Very kind…” he resumes “I'm sure Kalim would surely like it if you gave it to him in person.”
You're looking at his back, his face is hidden from you, yet you suddenly feel watched.
You blink in confusion, unsure of what's really going on between you and him in that room.
“It's not for Kalim.” You say, but you're not entirely sure it was necessary, or perhaps it isn't for the reasons he wants you to believe.
His cutting stops: "Oh no?"
He is smiling. You can swear. Or maybe not?
“It's for you, Jamil.” It doesn't matter if he's faking it or really ignoring your feelings, you know he wants to hear it.
Finally he looks at you, there's a slight smile on his lips, he's amused and maybe deep down there's a veil of poisonous sweetness, but it's not mean.
“What an extremely generous thought, and to think you've gone to such great lengths for someone like me-”
“Jamil.” You stop it. You have enough confidence to do it, because now you know he's acting. You don't know what face he's hiding, but the humble, compliant servant is a mask you're not willing to accept, and he knows it.
A grin rumbles in his chest: "forgive me, but it's the reality of the facts."
For a moment his eyes return to his work, time to fill a bowl with fruit and topping it with ingredients he knows, but now again her attention is completely and patently all yours.
“I did well then.”
“To do what?”
The fruit salad he has prepared is suddenly in front of you, waiting to be taken from his hands. You grab the cup with a wonder you don't know you have.
“Not to give it to him...” he replies to you, while he retrieves the bag that you brought. By unrolling the upper part, he peeks at its contents.
You're not sure what it is, but there's something different than usual in his gaze: maybe it's just a light, or a nuance, or the way his eyebrows fold differently.
“And…this is for me…?” You ask, still unsure what to do with that little treat you're holding.
He looks at you, an amused snort escapes his lips but his voice is as formal as ever: “This is just a small attempt to repay your extreme kindness towards me.”
The way he looks at you is as impenetrable as that small smile he gives you, and you wonder if you're just a little mouse drawn into the snake's coils.
“You're looking for trouble yourself, you know that?” There is laughter hidden in the folds of his voice as he responds to your thoughts.
He is close to you now, you can see up close his cold gray irises set in the feline cut of the eyelids. They have the color of cooled coal, yet heaven only knows how much those eyes burn with forbidden feelings.
“You got lost?” He asks you with an awareness that he doesn't even pretend to hide.
“No…” you murmur, but as you do he moves closer to you again, until his hand brushes your cheek.
The kiss he gives you is delicate, but too unconventional to be innocent. His lips remain resting just below your ear, in a barely perceptible, yet prolonged contact.
You never thought snakes could bite so sweetly.
When you can finally see him again there's a not-so-tacit satisfaction in his gaze.
“Can we eat together?” Jamil asks you sliding his slender fingers along your arm, until they gently encircle his wrist. You nod, because you can't give up.
Who knows how the dark asp will poison you. Do you really care, deep down?
Even if he pretends to swipe the way your hands end up squeezing together makes you think that maybe yes, you really are in its dangerous coils, but maybe they don't wrap you around to hurt you.
Author's note: I realized that I was much braver with Uta at first. Let's try again.
Tokyo Ghoul, Uta x Human!Reader
What is mine
There is a smell of blood in the putrid air. Your blood.
The ghoul holds you in its arms like a sacrificial victim.
“That's mine.”
“I didn't know, sorry...I'm not the type to go around stealing other people's food, believe me.”
Looks nice, him. He has dyed blond and blue hair that escapes from his wildly done bun. His locks fall on a face that would look like an angel's, if it weren't for those veins that flow like streams from the black and red eyes of a demon. He doesn't have to shine with intelligence since he doesn't wear the mask, or maybe he trusts too much in his abilities, for someone so average.
Uta picks you up when the younger ghoul hands you over to him: you are cold, you are shaking, you are crying. He doesn't know if you're paralyzed with fear or blood loss from that wound on your shoulder.
Your blood tickles his sense of smell, and his palate. Your fingers grip his sweater, and he holds you just tighter. He doesn’t blame the other one, your perfume is intoxicating now that your flesh is uncovered.
He mustn't be happy to give up on you, he wouldn't if Uta weren't so much stronger than him.
The Mask Maker gently puts you on the ground, he feels your fear: you are afraid of everything now, even him.
That person tried to take you away from him, to keep you for himself. And that person expects him to get you now.
“Luckily I'm hungry.” He says as he looks into your eyes. If you can be more afraid than you already are, he doesn't know. But it doesn’t matter.
The ghoul with the beautiful face was going to say something, but it's hard to talk when your vocal cords are torn.
The carotid artery hangs from the bite mark like a slack string, part of it between Uta's teeth; a flick of the tongue and it disappears between the lips.
The eyes of the predator victim are wide open, incredulous. Gorgeous, perhaps.
How long can it take for that slit throat to heal? A lot of time. Too little.
Uta bites again, blood gushes, there is a muffled scream.
The taste of that meat has nothing to do with the smell you give off, but Uta is hungry.
He's hungry, and your broken skin makes him lose control.
Someone must be eaten by him.
That ghoul wanted to eat you.
He wanted him to eat you himself.
He was about to lose you, in a way or another.
His hands dig into his chest, the intricate black patterns on his fingers covered in ferrous red.
“What a greedy you are... you already ate, huh?”
The stomach of the other demon is full, Uta wonders who is in there: “It was he a boy? A girl? Young or old? An unfortunate student? All of them?”
Uta smiles. That won't be of any use now that it's out of the body, it's not right to waste it.
He won't even need his intestines, right?
And the heart? What does the unfortunate one do with his heart?
The bones crunch as they crack and open, like the crust that covers the filling.
Maybe it still moves, or maybe it doesn't, but it doesn't matter.
The teeth sink in like in an apple, they tear it, now there is no more life. But is the soul still there?
Uta is full, but still gobbles it up. He devours that body that is not meant to be eaten, that modifies his, that drives his mind crazy. Assuming Uta can go any crazier than that.
No, he can't freak out, there's you. But Uta is crazy to love you.
“Uta!”
Your voice sounds desperate. How long have you been calling him?
He looks at you with his delicate face smeared, the top of the other ghoul's skull hanging from his fingers gripping his blond hair.
Now he comes to you, he promises you. He just has to make sure you don't get eaten too.
“Is there still a soul in these eyes?” He asks the half head as he brings it up to his gaze. He can't even tell where the jaw and tongue have gone, but that's not a problem.
Those eyes that stare at him glassy and half open Uta hates them. He doesn't even bother to remove them from the eye socket; he rips the first one off with just his teeth and swallows it whole, then does the same with the other one. It's not difficult, and if inside there is the core of that stupid, then he lets it rot in his depths together with the remains of his body.
Now there is no more danger for you.
The head rolls away, no one will wonder what happened to someone like him. It's a ghoul who disappeared in the fourth ward, at the end.
Uta calls your name as he leans in front of you, sweet and gentle as ever.
He watches your hand press on the wound on your shoulder: "Let me see." He asks you softly.
You obey, but you still smell of terror. You've never seen him eat like this, not someone like him.
The fingers that used to butcher now fearfully touch the edge of your wound.
"It's not serious... you’ll be ok, everything is fine." He murmurs reassuringly, barely licking the blood that drips from you. It will be enough to remove that hateful taste from his tongue.
His hands take your face, holding it like never before. His thumbs wipe away your tears and massage your cheekbones as he contemplates you. The blood is now on you too.
He looks into your glassy eyes and something unknown stirs inside him.
He is losing you. It's the only thing he can think of. You seem so distant now.
How he can stop you, unarmed as he is. Not even the idea of consuming your body to hold you within him brings relief, and he doesn't know why you upset his functioning.
But Uta is bizarre, there is no situation in which he follows a rule of his.
You are so different from Renji to him, your delicacy makes you complicated and elusive. Your delicacy prevents him from breaking you.
He can't afford to lose you too, he understood it when his chest tightened on smelling your blood. You and Renji are the only things that still make him walk in this world, which still allow him to experience lively emotions. It's not the RC cells that risk driving him crazy, it's you.
“I love you.”
His whisper is so sweet you might think he's about to cry.
It seems strange to say, those are not words that are well suited to a language like his, especially in a world where secrets must be kept between the ribs. But that's the only thing worth letting you know right now. A ghoul love, a clown love, but it's love.
And he almost gasps when he sees your eyes light up with life again, as you look at him as if you were seeing him for the first time.
He doesn't expect to find your arms around him, nor to meet your lips.
You kiss him like it's not okay to do, like he hasn't just eaten someone. You don't seem to mind the blood smearing your face, the metallic taste on his tongue. You seem to ask him to swallow you, but there is no room for you.
The lovers: two crazy people kissing among the remains of a corpse.
It's a good stage for you two.
“He wanted to put you in his place…” He whispers as he holds you like he never held you.
“You wished too?”
Don't you already have your answer?
Your eyes travel from him to over his shoulder, but his hand covers them. He stares at the grimy tattoos on his knuckles for a split second, wondering how they got there.
It's to protect you, perhaps, or to protect him who is wrong and rotten even among monsters.
“Forget it.” He tells you.
You shake your head. He's covered you so much in ghoul blood that at first glance you wouldn't be able to tell who the perpetrator is between you two, but all those red marks on you are testament to his touch.
“I don’t want to do it. I don't want to lose anything about you” You tell him, and there's an adoration in your voice that he always pretended not to hear.
“No?”
“No. Will you take me home?”
He gives you a quick nod, and just watches you as you climb onto his back. Your grip around his neck is reassuring.
“You'll make it?” You ask, as if he's never brought you like this. He scoffs at you as he settles your legs on his hips.
He's so grateful to feel your weight on his back and not in his stomach.
“I feel heavy actually, you say it's your fault?”
You huff, and your heel taps playfully on his thigh. He pinches you lightly, affectionately.
You are alive, he wants you to be alive. There is no one in the world who could look at his melancholy and smile as you do, marveling at a monstrous beauty.
What criminals you and he are, walking off into the night, away from the eyes of the world, leaving behind the trail of sinful blood.
Author's note: One day I will write a detailed scene of Uta eating if this is received well. So be ready. In general however this is more introspective than anything else.
P.S. I thought of The Autopsy of Jane Doe for the film
Tokyo Ghoul, Uta x Human!Reader
Horror
Uta was watching you that night.
You'd gotten closer in the last few minutes, and the pillow that was propped against your crossed legs had tightened to your chest.
It was more of a game than anything for you. You even smiled as you watched the doctor spread the woman's chest like butterfly wings, though your nose wrinkled a little at the sight of it.
He had found you fascinating at that time, and somewhat disconcerting.
“If it impresses you too much we can stop seeing it.” He had told you, even if it was you who insisted in the first place.
Your laugh had been sweet: “Well, a horror has to impress.”
That's how it is, he thinks, for human beings like you.
But when Uta looked at the screen he can tell that those exposed muscles and protruding bones weren't so terrible, they weren't any different from what he sees every day, from what he himself causes.
Was it fascination and excitement that made you hug him now, or was it the unease of the macabre spectacle?
He wonders if you know, if you understand who holds you in his arms.
You're just lucky to be loved, little human, so fragile to break, to devour from head to toe. If it were up to him, not even the bones would remain of you. He would crush and ingest them like the drug you are. His poison, which he can't get enough of even if you make him feel these emotions, this anger and this adoration.
Can real life impress you too?
You chose him, him with his hands squeezing lungs still to be torn, him with his mouth already smeared with blood.
He hears the jingle of falling keys, your eyes are fixed on the corpse that emerges from the black bag. The human arms are already broken, closed inside a plastic bag, but you arrived in time to see the open chest, just like butterfly wings. Did you like it?
“Uta...” You start, you seem hypnotized by that vision.
He stands up, his sleeve wipes the blood staining his jaws without really doing it: "Sorry, I was just putting it away but... I got hungry."
His approaching you is a challenge that not even he dares to name. Your vision shifts from the half-open eyes of the dead man to those of the ghoul.
“Why…?” You just ask him. You know he never let you see anything like this for a reason, that he always wanted to protect you from this in his own way.
A whole body by the way. Ribs split open like a book left half open reveal a heart you can't see.
It's that man's heart, but it's yours that Uta is now trying to eat.
“What have I done?” Your voice comes out as a compliant sigh, your eyes close, but they just look tired.
“Why do you think you did something to me?”
Uta knows he's sneaky, maybe mean to you. But on the other hand, you chose him, crazy as he is. Meaningless mask maker, he can't accept that you love only a facade.
"Do you hate that I'm a human so much, Uta?"
No, he loves you to be human.
Loving you makes him feel alive. You are both anchor on earth and a feather in the wind that can escape from his fingers, a breath from him would be enough, or it would be enough to lean you on his tongue and swallow.
It would be so easy to make you disappear, but if he did it would be too cold for him. But he loves it, he loves you in every way that he knows.
That's why he plays like this with you, because he even likes the sense of guilt you put in his soul when you look at him with that wounded look.
“I thought you liked these things.” He says. That's why he pushes himself to the limit every time. He pushes himself and he pushes you.
Your eyes investigate his mute face.
“Can we get out of this together?” You ask.
“We always have.” He answers.
“You want?”
An inkling of alarm lights up in the back of his mind. You're as good at playing as he is now.
Your hands lean on his cheeks, caressing them slowly as if he's the one about to break.
“Did I hurt you?”
What a silly question you ask him, how can a human hurt a ghoul? But that doubt that claws at the back of his throat it’s you who caused it. Perhaps the day will come when you will run away from him, because you have understood that blood is not fiction.
“I am…the monster of the story.” Finally he says. His nose twitches a little as he reflects on his own words: “I even have the mask.”
You smile, and he's in your arms: “I really don't think you can find anything wrong with that.”
“Why, you find it wrong?”
“No.” Your lips brushes the tattoo on his neck “A ghoul that kills a human will never be as creepy as a human that kills a human, no matter how you look at it.”
It's probably as you say, even if Uta thinks he can't fit that pattern either, but that doesn't matter for now. For now he will just rest his face on yours, while his arm squeezes your waist to him.
“Maybe I'm just saying that because I have a ghoul of my own, but-“
“You say that because you're too weird for a human to be a good human.” He interrupts you by tapping his index finger on the tip of your nose.
Your laughter now has an aftertaste of revenge: “Be careful who you eat, my dear monster. You may be cursed one day.”
You slip out of his grasp to hide somewhere, waiting for him to finish what he started.
Uta sighs, but he doesn't try to hide the slight smile she gives him.
Cursed, huh? But in the end, a curse more or a curse less, what difference does it make?
Hello! I've decided to open sketch commissions through fiverr since it works where i live as well, they are pretty simple just colored or uncolored sketches depending on what you'd like!!
Considered commissioning or rebloging if you want to support me :^)
Little Things of Love - Melly, Aesop, Luca, Antonio, and Andrew
Hi! I’m just doing this do indulge in my love of idv so, if anything is OOC, you can tell me but please don’t be rude haha. :)
Melly
Melly loves someone who loves her for who she is, not her beauty. Someone who loves her interest in entomology, even if they don’t understand.
Outside in the manor’s garden laid two lovers on a picnic blanket. A checkered blanket laying beneath them with small finger-sized sandwiches laying on small plates. A picnic basket laid beside the girl, whom was gushing about bees. The girl hadn’t been looking at her spouse during her ramble, just aimlessly looking ahead.
After a moment, the woman paused and focused on her spouse. Her spouse had already been staring at her, smiling, with a look of pure adoration and focus on their face. Melly herself knew that they didn’t know all that much about entomology yet they still listened to her ramble. Although you could not see her eyes, you could see Melly’s mouth curl into a small, warm, smile. Melly lightly grabbed your hand and kissed your cheek, “Thank you,” Melly whispered.
Confused, your eyebrows crinkled, “hm?”
“For listening.” Melly smiled while covering you in kisses. Her red lipstick left imprints all along your face while you sat there, stunned.
Aesop
Someone who’s a talker, who can carry the conversation. Someone who is fine with his aloof attitude and accepts him for who he is (and, his weird obsession with death).
Aesop’s room who in the past was quiet. You could hear a pen drop and could here the footsteps of whomever walking the corridor. Yet, that silence is now rare. Usually, a voice could be heard from the door. It’s be gushing and rambling about whatever came to mind.
You’d think that the owner, Aesop Carl, would be annoying at the newfound loudness in his room. Yet, that was not the case. He’d listen adamantly about whatever topic was on your mind. His eyes would soften, looking at your happy face. Aesop wouldn’t just stare out in space while talking to you, how could he! Aesop, to show you how much he’s listening, sometimes makes an occasional comment or question on whatever topic being discussed.
“So,” the grey haired man said looking at you, “it started all because some guy found.. a notebook that could kill whomever he wanted?”
“Well, yeah.” When he said it like that, it makes your 20 min explanation utterly useless. But, whatever. He listens and, truly, that’s all that matters. You smile at the man, lightly grasping his hand, “I love you, Aesop.”
Luca
Your mere presence means a lot to Luca. Whether you’re drawing, writing, sleeping, or watching something, as long as your with him, he’s satisfied.
As an inventor at heart, Luca spent many days working on numerous inventions. Unfortunately, due to his fixation on them, he’ll spend hours just working. Which causes his health to deteriorate over time. Of course, there’s someone who always makes sure he’s healthy. Though, Luca would never let you stay up with him while working on his inventions. No matter how much you persist, he’ll never approve of your health deteriorating over time because of him. After all, he can’t loose you too.
Luca leaned back in his chair, it was late at night, he finally finished his latest invention. It was a gadget for, his beloved, you. Something that’d help you throughout the hellish matches survivors were forced to endure. A smile was fastened on Luca’s face and was ready to present the gadget to you. But, when he got up and turned around, you were asleep. A small chuckle escaped Luca’s mouth. Silently, Luca put the gadget on the beside table closer to you and layed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you, smiling, and pulled you closer to him. His arms tightened around you, as if he were afraid that you’d disappear in the night. Yet, he knew you would never go. Luca kissed the top of your forehead, before drifting off to sleep himself.
Antonio:
A free spirit is what he thinks of you. Untainted of the world of aristocrats and untainted of their obsession. A joy to be around, whether you see our or not, is what he thinks whenever with you.
Perhaps, he did not deserve you. He watched you with other survivors, during his friendly match with Michiko (As, it was much easier to convince her to be friendly compared to the other hunters). You laugh while joking alongside Emma and Norton, Norton had likely said something funny. He watched as Michiko joyously danced with all the survivors. A silent tint of jealousy was evident. To be looked upon fondly without obsession and to be liked for who you are. It’s something that Antonio knew you thought of him as, but not the vast majority.
Yet, as he watched you run over to him and clasp his hand, he’s filled with everlasting joy. Antonio silently played the piano, with you beside him, but occasionally you could the man chuckle over his violin. If he knew you all those years ago, before he made the contract with that demon, Antonio one and only desire would be that you both would never part. Yet, he knew it would happen eventually. He’d watch as you’d age and he’d watch you die. Nevertheless, it didn’t matter in the moment. In the moment, he was happy. And, truly, that’s all that mattered to him.
Andrew:
A place of solace and happiness is how he feels, whenever with you.
Used to the solace of being alone, it was a surprise that he now found solace in you. At first, he was worried. After the death of his mother, he wasn’t used to human interaction. However, over time, it became better.
It was silent in your room. Andrew was laying on your bed, waiting for you to come back from your match. Little trinkets were sprinkled around your room some sat their intended places, some of the floor, and some scattered all around your room. Andrew picked up one of them, holding it in his fingers. A smile reached the man’s face as he remembered you. It was a trinket you use a lot but, for some reason, you didn’t wear it today.
—
Andrew’s story is lowkey ass but sorry haha. Thanks for reading :)
Warning: slight angst, angst/comfort, blood mentions, Leona licks you, some may not like it so you are warned.
Author's note: It was supposed to come out on his birthday but that's okay, it's a reworking of something I've already written in the past.
Twisted Wonderland, Leona Kingscholar x Reader
Nightmare
Leona always thought that becoming king would be the greatest joy he could ever get in life. To be acclaimed by his people, loved, respected, seen for the wonder that he truly is. All his problems disappear before his merits, finally recognized.
You're proud of him, aren't you?
He looks at you next to him, he sees your smile. You know you will share his privileges with him.
You love him, you told him in many ways.
So why that sharp pain in his stomach, that death throb under his side?
You smile happily as you hold the bloody sword in your hands. His blood, dripping on the ground, on the royal robes, flowing amidst the laughter of jubilation at the deliverance from the dying king. Ruggie celebrates too, and Jack, and Epel, and even the brats of Heartslabyus cheer in victory. You didn't even bother using magic, just a sharp blade was enough.
His hand grips the wound in a vain attempt to survive.
But if he survives, what's he ever going to do with your hate on his shoulders?
Leona closes his eyes, and for a moment he asks for everything to end soon. But then he realizes from his gasp that it doesn't have the traits of death. The pain in his stomach is suddenly gone: he's awake.
He finds himself sitting between the sheets of his bed in the dark room.
All is calm, only the pale moon is watching him. His hand is wet yes, but only with the sweat of his torment.
It's just a nightmare, he tells himelf, and Leona Kingscholar is no longer a puppy afraid of nightmares. But even as he says it, his chest hurts, a primal dread scrapes the edges of his mind.
He feels so alone in that bed. It’s not the solitude that he claims, to which he is accustomed. It's a loneliness that asks him questions that he never wants to answer, it's a real loneliness, not the one he pretends to want.
Tomorrow everything will be easier with the sun, he thinks, yet he is downstairs outside his room.
He feels cold, his bare toes starting to bother him, but he's stronger than that.
His knocking on your door is insistent and arrogant, but effective.
When you open the door, a thousand emotions pass through your eyes: concern and confusion prevail.
He stands there like a grumpy tousled cat, cuddled up and nose wrinkled as your eyes alternate between him and the time on your phone's glowing screen.
“Leona…is it…quarter past three in the morning?”
“It seems.”
He sees you flutter tired eyelids: “What's going on? Did something catch fire? Is anyone sick? Hurt?”
Leona awake during the day is already a special event, but at night it is definitely a sign of misfortune.
But he snorts: “Nothing like that. Will you let me in?”
You smile at him, stepping aside: “Well, it's the practice, right?”
He doesn't moan or huff, he just walks past you looking for the first place he can sit down. Your expression saddens.
"Leona..." You call him softly, you kneel in front of him but his eyes escape you. His ears hang over his head and for some reason his general appearance of him brings you a melancholy that doesn't usually come from him. The boredom and pent-up anger that is usually your issues with him are dissolved into an existential sadness.
“What happens?” You investigate again, as gently as possible. What on earth could have hurt the prince so much as to reduce him like this? And what can you do, little creature, in front of something like that?
Leona remains immersed in silence for a period of time that you cannot quantify, but when his green eyes finally look at yours and you can hear his voice, there is no answer waiting for you: "Do you hate me?"
That question comes out to him in such a strange tone, feeble and wounded, that it scares even him. The big bad lion is not brave enough to face his inner monsters.
You're shocked, you almost think it's a joke, or you're dreaming, because such Leona is unthinkable.
“Do people hang out with those they hate at your home?” You ask with a hint of a smile that just wants to reassure him, even if you aren't sure either. Your hands slide over his, you take them meekly as if they were wet little birds: "Why on earth should I hate you, Leona?"
His mind suddenly comes up with more reasons than are actually real, and at the same time he seeks an answer within your gaze.
Then, suddenly, his eyebrows furrow in tension as he sights something that had gone unnoticed up to that moment.
“What did you do?” He asks as his thumb brushes the edges of what looks like a dry cut on your forehead near your left temple.
“What? What is it?” You ask confused at first, as your hand goes up to his.
“Oh, no, it's nothing!” Then you laugh, relaxing “A small accident during the alchemy lesson a few days ago. Nothing serious."
A few days ago. Nothing serious.
He hadn't noticed. Even though you'd been around him most of the time, he hadn't noticed at all. You had been hurt and he hadn't noticed.
He must have let you down, and he feels humiliated. Someone looked after you so well that you didn't even feel the need to tell him – or maybe he didn't listen to you?
He bites his lower lip in an unconscious punishment, while he feels his swollen heart become heavier in the new awareness of being useless to you.
“Come here.”
His dragging you into his lap feels rough, but you sense that something has changed in him, something that had remained unknown until then.
“Leona?” You call him quietly, but he silences you with a soft whisper. You're not sure what his behavior responds to, whether it's a puppy's need for affection, the care of a lover or a primordial protective instinct that resides in the animal part of him.
His tongue slowly caresses your wound with mechanical and slow movements. They are of no use now, yet they speak of his need to have you near, to be worthy of having you.
It's a prayer for forgiveness he'll never say in words, but what's the need for words?
Your palms rest patiently on his shoulders, and his hand gently holds the opposite side of your face as he continues that primal ritual.
How many hidden sides does your magical prince have?
“You should do this more often.” You tell him, while you hug more to his chest.
“Don't get your hopes up.” He answers you, but in the meantime he feels your body abandoned in his hands, all your need to receive the love of your loved one.
Your hand rests on his neck, caresses him, then goes up his cheek, up to his sensitive ear. Leona meekly bows his head to let himself be cuddled. For once, in the middle of the night, with you, he can afford it.
You still love him, it's a relief. A relief that deserves his invaluable commitment, not to make you leave.
Thanks for the tags @shuadotcom , @thesafecafe 🫶🏽❣️
rules: post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous they are. let people send you an ask with any titles that most intrigue them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then ta.g as many people as you have wips.
I've got only a few but
Hard to Love pt2 ~ PJS
Reckless Heiress ~ SVT 95liner
Cheols puppy ~ CSC
Production student reader ~ KHJ
Baking disaster ~ LYB/LF
Tagging: @neocitycollectives @hee0soo @heejayy @jamalsblackwife @jaehyunsblkgf @calibabii21 @caribabie @moonlighthoon @unh0ly-dr3am3r @hee-pster @carmelakimtodoroki @multifandomslxt & anyone else who wants to ❣️
Fusional Love | Shoto Todoroki (DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT like fr)
Tagging: @adaamazing because I’m curious about what they’re working on, same for @crimsonredfeathers (spill the tea pls), aannnnd that’s it because I don’t have friends lol
Author's note: Blade just came home, and I write for Jing Yuan rightly. On the other hand I started the game for him, just a little too late to have him.
Honkai Star Rail, Jing Yuan x Reader
Confidence
You have never considered special the closeness you have with the Xianzhou Lofu General.
Jing Yuan is a kind, reasonable, and soft-spoken person, and while his vaguely opportunistic subterfuges strike you at times, you know how deep his commitment to his people is, including you.
You always did your best to be supportive of him, and you were grateful to be able to be so close.
On the other hand, you knew that he would never reject anyone, and you never deluded yourself that your deep affection for him could leap to the eye or somehow be considered with equal consideration.
You've never done it, but you could have done it a thousand times.
If only he could see you now, looking at his sleeping face, he would truly understand what you are feeling -he didn't, did he?-
You sigh slowly, a veil of concern clouds your gaze: it's not uncommon for him to fall asleep while sitting in that position at work, but there are times when it's impossible to wake him up, like today.
He's so exhausted that not even your presence wakes him, and you know nothing will unless it's something his brain directly links to an emergency.
“Mimi.”
You feel his soft fur caressing your arm, the lion is by your side even before you call him.
Looking down on him you see all the majesty of a king, the sweetness of a kitten and at the same time an awareness unknown to you that is hidden in the feline blue eyes.
He really looks like its owner.
“What should I do?” You ask at the animal, kneeling in front of him. Your hands sink into the clear mane, a soft roar from him answers you.
You smile as you look at the sharp canines protruding from his jaws. He could kill you, Jing Yuan could too, but they never would.
The huge cat stomps behind you, standing by you the entire time as you take care of the dear General, in your way.
Mimi sits quietly munching on the piece of meat you've granted him while you prepare some food, but his eyes are intently on you. You feel observed, and perhaps in a sense even cared for.
The lion watches over you as if it were him.
He makes no sign of waking up, the General, when you place the tray on the table. It will be his dinner when he wakes up, or maybe his late lunch, probably he hasn't eaten today.
You unhesitatingly retrieve papers from his desk, you're familiar enough with his work that you're allowed to do so, yet you've never thought about the matter.
All those practices and those reports make you smile a little, because the soul of the commander is in there too.
You look at him again, he's in deep sleep, his head lolling wearily on his shoulder, his tousled locks hiding his face more than they already normally do.
You don't quite know what's going on right now, because you're so close to him. Maybe it's out of affection, out of gratitude, or maybe out of a protective instinct towards the one who always protects everyone, but you reach forward.
A kiss on his soft hair won't wake him up. They smell like leaves, and you wonder where he's been to get that smell on him.
The contact of your lips lasts longer than you planned, but remains gentle and respectful.
“Thank you.” You mutter at him, before pulling away and turning to leave.
You are at the door when you hear movement behind you.
“You know, I've always found the way you cut vegetables cute.”
His voice makes you stop on the spot, in his tone you already feel the smile on his lips. Maybe he wasn't as soundly asleep as you thought, but since when?
He knows you're embarrassed, you're sure of it.
You call his name uncertainly as you turn towards him, but he's faster: he's already standing behind you, his good-natured expression makes your heart melt.
He leans over your shoulder, you feel the soft tufts tickle your neck as he places a chaste kiss on your cheek.
“I guess it's boring watching me sleep, but do you really have to leave while I'm awake?”
Your expression of surprise must be funny, because he's laughing.
You are used to the closeness you have with him, but now the closeness is becoming intimacy.
His hand rests softly on your face, his expression is so loving you think you might get lost in it.
“Even this old General needs tenderness, you know that?”
Those words touch your heart. You see in his eyes the tiredness, the pain, but also everything he feels towards you.
Affection, gratitude, desire to protect.
It comes naturally to smile to you, and you lean into his touch. He looks satisfied when his thumb lightly rubs your cheekbone. Again, you're used to the closeness you have with him, but maybe that closeness isn't for everyone.
“Dine with me.” He says, taking you by the hand. “You are always so generous when you cook, this time don't make me eat alone.”
You laugh: “If that's the order, General.”
Disappointment makes him wrinkle his nose slightly: “It's not an order. I don't need an order, do I?”
Now you know that he has seen further than you thought.
“No…” You whisper as you gently place your palm on his.
Mimi is now lying on the floor, her breathing is slow and his eyes are closed. Now he's the one giving himself a well-deserved rest.
As you sit in front of the commander you think about how you haven't felt this happy in too long. It's not overwhelming happiness, making you laugh and jump, but it's warm and mature. Something that lasts over time without corroding.
It is true that General Jing Yuan doesn't deny himself to anyone, that everyone can enjoy his kindness, but don't you think that many besides you have the honor of laughing in front of his face dirty with rice.
Warning: none, mention of bones but very metaphorical
Tokyo Ghoul, Uta X Human!Reader
Moon
You feel a lump in your throat tighten as you walk around the dark room.
Usually the light is always on, waiting for you, no matter what time you arrive.
“Uta…?” You call, while inching forward, already expecting to get no answer. Something must have happened to him, you think just before all the anxiety melts away.
“I’m here. Take it easy…”
You sigh with relief as his soft voice reaches you from the bedroom.
This is a self-indulgent thing that I didn't know whether to post, but while it's here here you go
Tokyo Revengers, Baji Keisuke x Reader
Yardstick
You have always been a yardstick for Keisuke Baji.
You have been since you were both in school, since he was part of the Tokyo Majin Gang. At the time, you were the only reason he started musing about the hot head he had — and still has. He had happened to see your eyes frightened by something he had done, as he had also happened to accidentally hurt you in one of his moments of violence.
He had always felt very bad afterwards, so bad that he almost would have skipped school in order not to show himself in front of you.
He was always convinced that one more mistake would make you run away.
"Hey…" he had once muttered with the straw of iced tea between his lips "You find me scary…?"
He knows perfectly well that he didn't ask you with the nonchalance with which he insists on remembering, but he perfectly remembers the relief when you laughed and shook your head: "I wouldn't say, I'm just afraid you'll get into trouble."
And he was sure you were right to be afraid, there was an eerie awareness scraping at the back of both of yours brains, a painful memory that never happened.
Keisuke never meant to hurt you, and a part of him thinks that every tear from your nightmares is somehow his fault. Yet you can also be the measure of how much he is loved.
You are the balance that has gradually established him: that with your quarrels you have stopped him too many times from doing things he would have regretted, and with your laughter you have made him understand which parts of his being are right, lovable, or even admirable.
He also remembers the first time your hands touched him; he feels them now as he felt them then. He keeps many memorable motorcycle rides, but the one at that time was the first in which he had felt so complete.
It wasn't the first time you were behind him, but your hands had always been firmly gripping your seat and nothing had come from you more than a smile and a thank you.
But that time there had been something magical: maybe it was the summer, maybe it was the night, maybe it was the sea lapping by your side in the distance. You'd exchanged a knowing glance with some of the others, maybe Draken or maybe Kazutora, but your laughter soon reached his ears, above the roaring engines.
You had laughed freely, throwing your head back and letting the wind caress you. He had felt your body move, get closer, and your hands had rested on his hips, then slid around his abdomen. He couldn't explain what really happened even now, but he remembers suddenly becoming aware of the rhythmic thud of his heart in his chest.
It was powerful, and alive, and followed the rhythm of your breath.
At that moment you had become his wings, and his blood boiled together with yours and that of all the others who ran alongside you on the hot asphalt.
In that moment Keisuke understood that he was going to give you the whole world.
But then the day had come when he had fallen asleep on a rainy afternoon, and had dreamed of a dull ache in his stomach, his blood pouring and his vision blurring, while Chifuyu's face grew more and more dark. It had made him want to cry at the thought that you would cry too, and that he could do nothing.
He remembers how he woke up: sweaty, panting, and though he'd never admit it, tears were still flowing from his eyes. His ears were tormented by the ringing of his cell phone.
Your voice was terrified, you mentioned a nightmare, you wanted to see him, you wanted to make sure he was okay.
Your fear had frightened him too, he had offered to come to you but you had begged him not to move.
You had arrived at his door in the rain, and he didn't understand if the clear drops on your face came from the sky or from your eyes. You had reached out to him as if moved by instinct that you were constantly trying to suppress, but you hadn't touched him so as not to disrespect him probably.
It was he who leaned on your touch, your touch that desperately sought him, investigated.
Your fingers had desperately felt his stomach, where in his dream the wound was bleeding. You pressed softly, again and again, as if you didn't believe he was in one piece.
Keisuke knew what you dreamed about. He hadn't yelled or mumbled or asked what you were doing. He took you in his arms and let your tears wet his black shirt.
"It’s ok." He had told you with an awareness that he shouldn't have belonged to him, and since that Halloween he had finally been able to call you his.
You two never needed the "I love you" or romantic dates: the first kiss between you had been at half past midnight, in a small shop in the alleys of Tokyo with a rusty sign, which without fixed hours offered too hot ramen for the season.
He was completely bruised, his whole body ached and his bruises didn't make him a good sight. You were furious with him, and you had a fight. But even while you asserted your reasons and he pretended to have his own, Keisuke's heart lit up every time he felt your concern for him, your fear of losing him or staying away from him for too long.
The kiss had been reckless, like everything he did.
"Sorry." He had mumbled, his face buried in the wet smoke of the broth. He was afraid he'd ruined everything, as always, but then you laughed, hiding your red face in your hands.
"Thank goodness no one was there!" You exclaimed, while your bright eyes looked at him as if there was nothing more precious in the world.
You were and are his yardstick, his scales to find his balance. He didn't notice it right away, it took him some time to realize that the speed of his motorbike was inversely proportional to your stiffness on his back, how his bruises had different value depending on your reactions, how your look and your trust in him had begun to make him think that perhaps in this world he could be used for something.
"Are you still studying?" Your voice breaks peacefully into the room, the cat you proclaimed yours enters immediately after you, shaking the rain water from its fur.
You place your shopping bags on the table: there will be Peyang yakisoba for dinner, or at least he hopes so.
"I haven't had much time to do it…" He mutters "And it's hard." To hell what Chifuyu says.
Every now and then he wonders if he will really be able to achieve his goal of him, but when he looks into your eyes he already sees your pride that goes beyond his success.
"There can be no better vet than you." You tell him, absentmindedly tapping the book he's reading "Put these books down with that hard head you have."
He grunts, but his head rests on your stomach as he sighs. It's always reassuring to have you around.
"Hey, let's go for a ride."
"It’s raining."
"Do we really care?"
Even though he's grown Keisuke's smile is still the same, that beautiful smile that wears yours on your lips.
The purr of the cat now curled on his lap sounds like a protest, but he'll get over it.
Maybe tonight there won't be Peyang yakisoba for dinner, maybe you'll take refuge in some cheap place, that smells like frying, soaked by rainwater, but hey, this is your romantic dinner.
You are his yardstick, but the yardstick that allows him to be free, just as he is. And you're free with him, you know, and you hold that feeling close to your chest, reminding you that there's nothing that can stop you if you're together.
Your complicity is confirmation for both.
"Then put these books away." You tell him, giving him a playful pat on the head, before going to hastily put away your food shopping.
He looks at you with a victorious smile. You love him too much, don't you?
I can't imagine a world where I'm free without you.
